"Alright, here we are," Sherlock stopped abruptly, turning his head to make sure John could tell that this was the precise place they were entering.
John frowned. "We're on a case...here?"
Sherlock started forwards, pushing the wooden door open and stepping into the almost empty bar.
"Sherlock!" John hissed. He started after him.
The taller man took a high seat, rang a hotel-styled bell, and patted the seat next to him, signalling John to sit down.
John sighed, taking a seat, staring at the football pictures behind the counter.
"You still haven't told me why we're here."
"For the case," Sherlock drawled.
John turned to look at him, annoyed. "Yes, I know that, thank you, Mr. Consulting Detecti -"
"Shh, John!"
John sighed again.
"Really? There's not even anyone here," he huffed.
Sherlock set a hand down on the bell again quickly, producing another bing.
He tilted his head down towards John.
"When you get your drink, do not drink it." He straightened up again. "Though do act normal, please."
John's eyes bugged out for a second, then he took two fingers up to them and pushed on them.
"Right."
A wide, busty, middle-aged woman hustled through the door in uniform. She turned to the two men seated at the bar, a questioning look on her face, a frown and crease in her forehead, and then a forced smile (which scared John slightly).
"How may I help you boys? Something to drink?"
Sherlock smiled, and then did something quite unexpected. He put his arm around John's shoulders and held him tight. John tensed, laughing slightly, although he was quite scared and very confused as to what Sherlock was doing. He squirmed, feeling sweat on his forehead. He caught himself and smiled up at the lady, clearing his throat.
"I - uh, I think I'll have a - aaah..." John started.
Sherlock ran his hand up John's neck, massaging a circle on the side. John coughed and almost choked.
"I'll just have an...an Ale Mary," he finished quickly.
The woman looked at them with venomous eyes, although her smile asked for forgiveness.
Sherlock spoke up finally (Thank God, thought John).
"I'll have a London Pride."
The woman stopped, mid-turn. "Are you two together?" she asked with the same robotic smile.
"No, we're -" John started.
"Yes, very much so," interrupted Sherlock, smiling.
The waitress hummed, turning and starting to fill up the glasses with their requests, and setting the drinks in front of them.
Sherlock removed his arm from John's shoulders, taking the glass up and sniffing it. He wrinkled his nose while John sagged, relieved to not being held by Sherlock anymore. When the woman turned her back, Sherlock set down his drink again, leaning over to John, whispering in his ear.
"You have to play along, but don't make it obvious. And don't drink it. And I mean really, don't drink it. Now pretend like I said something very seductive or whatever it is sentimental couples do when they whisper to each other."
John blushed heavily as Sherlock leaned forward and ran his hands up John's chest lightly. "Oh, what I'll do to you when we get home, dear."
John was crimson.
The woman turned around, scowling.
"Well, are you both gonna have your drinks or not?"
Sherlock straightened up again, turning to her, pushing the drink towards her.
"Would you care for a sip?" he asked innocently.
"No," she said coldly.
Sherlock sniffed the drink again.
"Yes, it is. Isn't it?"
The woman looked at him. "What?"
"Mercury. Do you do this to all your homosexual customers, or just the ones who are being raunchy?"
The waitress stepped back. "I didn't do nothing, I swear it."
"Ha!" exclaimed Sherlock, waving her off. "I saw it. Now, if you'd be so kind to step outside the door where the police should be waiting, you'll be assisted into a police car and taken into custody. If you're lucky you might get the handcuffs that don't pinch."
"Wait - wait - saw what?" John asked, still confused.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The black bottle, John. She took the black bottle and poured just enough mercury into the drinks. Think, please."
Lestrade walked in the door, two police officers behind him, as they swiftly took the shocked woman into the backseat of a police car.
"Three couples dead in the past week, all died together, all from Mercury poisoning. I don't know how you do it, Sherlock, but you did it," Lestrade remarked, running a hand down his face.
-
"What was that...that...thing you did back there?" John questioned as they walked into the door of 221b Baker St.
"What thing?" Sherlock said absentmindedly.
"The...hand thing. Rubbing your hands on my chest." John said quietly.
Sherlock snorted. "It was an act, John."
"Oh. Alright. Okay. Yes - I know - I mean...I knew that."
Sherlock turned back to him. "Why?" he asked, stepping closer. "Did you enjoy it?" he said in a lower voice. John swallowed when Sherlock's hands returned to his chest, beginning to roam. John stepped back, bumping into the wall and his back pressed against it.
"Well? Did you?" asked Sherlock again, lips only inches from John's.
"Nnngh, Sherlock - stop...stop it."
Sherlock chuckled, walking away abruptly and heading to the kitchen to make himself some tea.
"You're quite and interesting man, John Watson."
John scowled at Sherlock's back. "What do you mean?"
"You claim you're not gay."
"I'm not."
Sherlock turned to look at him again. "Then what did you call that noise that slipped from your mouth?" He smirked.
John sighed and headed upstairs.
"Leave it, Sherlock."
"I guess you could say you're Holmes-o-sexual, then?" he called from the kitchen.
"Harr-harr, very funny. Leave it, Sherlock!"